Farkas and the Dovahkiin
by Tygralexa
Summary: Farkas is instantly enraptured by a newcomer to Jorrvaskr hall, but is in equal parts attracted to her and afraid of her. This tells the story of their adventures. Rated M for potential future explicit scenes. There will be warnings at the beginning of each chapter as needed. Cover photo is NOT mine - it belongs to NekoWork on deviantart. Said artist did a stellar job.
1. Newcomer

**What's up, guys. As I'm sure you already know, this is a Skyrim fic. It features Farkas and a character based on the one I'm currently playing with. (Boring, maybe, but I'm enjoying writing it, so why not?) It's sort of a romance fic, but that won't be the only focus. Hope you enjoy.**

"Farkas! Come show this new blood where the whelps sleep!"

Farkas' focus shifted from the heavy chest plate he was buffing to the doorway from which his brother's shout hailed. He set the armour aside and stood as Vilkas' impatient voice sounded again.

"Farkas! You great buffoon, do you even hear me?"

Farkas jogged heavily to the doorway so as not to keep his testy brother and this whelp waiting any longer. When he reached the door, however, he froze. Standing there before him, in front of his seated brother (who completely faded from his sight) was a Dunmer, a dark elf. Farkas' eyes traveled from her feet up, taking in her naturally defensive stance on the balls of her feet that she somehow disguised as casual, her long and slender but powerful looking legs, strong hips, narrow waist, strong arms… a beautiful slope between her gently curved shoulders and her neck. Her muscles were toned from head to toe, but the tone held little bulk to bring any damper on her feminine form.

He took note of her armour, which appeared to be handcrafted, reasonably durable, and lightweight. He noted in his head the sword hanging off her right hip… it looked rather rough, as did the shield on her left, and the bow strapped to her back. _She may need some help obtaining higher quality weapons_ , he thought.

His eyes dodged away from her face repeatedly, and he couldn't figure out why. They flitted up to her hair, a deep red, shaved on her right side with something of a mohawk lying flat towards the left. The bold red of her hair contrasted strongly against her pale gray complexion. Finally, with nowhere else to go, Farkas' eyes moved to study her face. Now he knew why he'd dodged it so long.

A strong but slender jaw. A brow bone that made her look constantly solemn. Cheekbones as high as High Hrothgar. Smooth skin, disturbed by a ragged scar cutting vertically across her right eye. And then he met her eyes. This was the reason. This was why he avoided her face for so long. His icy blue eyes became locked by her dark, blood red ones. He was sure that she was seeing into his soul. She must be. He couldn't look away. What else could be the explanation?

His jaw clenched and unclenched repeatedly as his eyes remained trapped by hers. Small beads of sweat popped on his forehead and nose. He felt himself falling into her sharp gaze, falling into oblivion…

And then his brother saved him. Saved his life, saved his soul from this enrapturing stranger.

"Would you like to stop staring at this whelp and do what you're told?"

Farkas' eyes snapped away at long last. Fell on his brother, then back to the Dunmer, but not her eyes.

"Right," he finally managed to say. "Follow me."

The stranger complied, not speaking a word, as Vilkas and the other Companion with him grumbled together about how mindless Farkas was. Meanwhile, if he hadn't known she were following him, Farkas would have thought he were alone. The newcomer's footsteps made no discernible sound on the stone floors of Jorrvaskr, even though she appeared to be walking normally. He tried not to look at her too long or hard. He couldn't figure out if he was intrigued by her or afraid of her. As they reached the bunks for the new blood, he settled on both.

"This is where the whelps sleep. Just find a bed and fall in it." He jolted mentally as he realised what he'd called her out of habit. "Not that you're a whelp or–" he started, but she ignored him as she stepped forward and dropped her pack, cutting him off with a brief "this will do" that sounded more than a little bit like a dismissal. He stood frozen in the doorway, willing himself to move, and not to say anything else lest he find himself in a pit.

"What… what do you call yourself?" Farkas stumbled spectacularly over his words.

The Dunmer didn't even spare him a glance. "It doesn't much matter," she stated brusquely, still so obviously trying to send him away.

Farkas tried to move, but he felt as though he had been blasted with the icy breath of a frost dragon. He couldn't move his feet from where they were. Then, against his will, his mouth formed words. Again. He considered for a moment if it would be worth it to cut out his own tongue.

"Where are you from?" Stupid question. Stupid! He knew that all the dark elves came originally from Morrowind, and most of them were here as refugees. Stupid, stupid!

"Dunmer come from Morrowind," she stated simply. Her voice was sharp and unforgiving, but, to Farkas' surprise, it held no condescension.

"I know, I just thought–"

"Don't." She cut across him again. She was still now, crouching by her pack as she was before, but she had stopped rummaging. Her head was turned fractionally to the side as though she were almost looking in his direction.

 _Blast it, Farkas, MOVE!_ Farkas willed his feet to shift, but still he stood frozen. _At least don't say anything else… please, by the eight, keep your mouth shut…_

"You don't have a home?" He spoke again, hating himself for it. Tongue removal seemed a viable option by this point.

The Dunmer turned to him now, and his eyes became again locked by hers as the fire of hers cut through the ice of his.

"No. I don't. I'm not from anywhere. I never knew Morrowind and I never knew the comfort of a home. I've been a loner as long as I can remember and I've been roaming alone just as long. Is that what you hoped to learn?" The sharpness of the delivery of her words cut him to the bone.

Farkas stood frozen for one more moment before finally convincing his feet to move. He uttered a forceful "yes" before turning on his heel and walking away as quickly as he could manage.

Farkas' feet carried him swiftly out of Jorrvaskr Hall, while he himself tried vainly to seem as inconspicuous as possible, part of which included grabbing the chest plate he had been buffing on his way out. He made his way up to the Skyforge, where he was greeted with a friendly nod and warm smile from Eorlund. He reciprocated the gesture, but his smile didn't hold its usual warmth.

Eorlund set down the metal he was shaping and paced over to Farkas, where he was now sitting at the edge of the Skyforge platform.

"Something wrong, my friend?" Eorlund asked, a true concern in his voice as he crouched beside Farkas. The latter shook his head, distractedly buffing one single spot on his chest plate.

"Just need some distance from that new blood."

Eorlund let out a doubting laugh. "You're normally all for flirting with the new blood," he teased, "what's different about Lady Savesa?"

Though his buffing hand didn't stop moving, Farkas' attention snapped to Eorlund, the hot blush in his cheeks at being accused of flirting forgotten as soon as it rose. "She told you her name? You've met her?"

At that, Eorlund smiled softly, nodding knowingly. "That's what's different. She's a beauty, isn't she? And you can sense it - the blood of a warrior coursing in her veins. But she isn't very friendly. Kodlak told me her name after he recruited her. She wouldn't speak to me except to tell me what she needed done with Vilkas' sword."

Farkas' eyes fell back to the chest plate on his lap, but it was clear he wasn't really seeing it. "She scares me," he confessed. "Every time she looks at me it's like she's looking into my soul."

"Then why not just avoid her?" Eorlund reasoned, "or learn to confront your fear. You will be seeing a lot of her since she's joined the Companions."

"I can't avoid her, because…" Farkas trailed off, unsure how to state his reasoning. "She's my shield sister, or she will be," he finally mumbled half-heartedly, giving away too plainly that that was an excuse, not a reason. Eorlund knew him better. Farkas knew this. Eorlund was one of the only people, male or female, he would confide in. He was about the only person who knew of Farkas' underlying intelligence that was hidden by his kind heart and quiet nature. They had had many late and long conversations that revealed the deepest sentiments of both men.

Eorlund's hand fell on Farkas', halting his vigorous, mindless buffing. "You can't avoid her because you think she is the most beautiful creature you've ever seen, and is already more intriguing than all of Tamriel with its infinite mysteries," he suggested, although his suggestion sounded more like a factual statement. Farkas failed to meet the older man's eyes. "That's what I thought when I saw my wife for the first time," Eorlund smiled.

"I'm more afraid of her than I am attracted to her," Farkas mumbled.

Eorlund laughed heartily, and Farkas' face flushed again, but he broke into a slight smirk in spite of himself.

"Such is true of most women," the old smith laughed. After a moment, Farkas joined in, although his was notably less hearty and carefree than Eorlund's.

"Go get your lady, Farkas," Eorlund smiled, pulling the younger man to his feet with strong, callused hands. "But," he said, grabbing Farkas by the arm, "let me fix that hole you nearly put in your chest plate while you're gone."

Farkas looked down at his chest plate. The circle he had been buffing was thinned severely, leaving a noticeable dent in the metal. He sheepishly passed the armour over to Eorlund.

"Thank you, Eorlund," Farkas smiled faintly at his friend. "Again…" he added, and Eorlund just chuckled and waved him away.

"You have something to do, Farkas. So do it!"

Farkas nodded dutifully and took off back towards Jorrvaskr.

Eorlund shook his head, smiling as he looked down at the chest plate in his hands and began melting down an identical metal to patch it for the umpteenth time. "Boy doesn't know his own strength," he said softly to himself as the crackling sound of the forge's fires followed Farkas down the hill.

 **That's it for the first chapter. Reviews are always appreciated, positive or negative. No set timeline on chapter releases; it's just sort of as I finish them and have read through a few times to make sure I'm happy with it. Til next time.**


	2. We Away

**Hello again everybody. I haven't gotten many readers, but I'm hoping that will change. Either way, let's dive right into chapter two. Enjoy!**

Farkas strode through the back doors of Jorrvaskr with far more zeal than he intended. The double doors banged harshly against the walls behind them, and the table full of companions at dinner turned to stare at him. He froze.

"Uhm… sorry," he gruffed, his eyes falling. Most of the table went back to eating with some muttered comment about that big fool in the doorway. All eyes moved from him… except two. The two piercing red eyes of the new Dunmer. He flinched when he saw that the only empty seat was beside her, at the end of the table.

Would it be worth it not to eat? His stomach rumbled loudly at that moment, telling him the answer was no. The noise drew some chuckles from the Companions, until Vilkas shouted across the hall.

"Come on, then, Farkas," he hollered, "have a seat! Savesa won't bite." At the remark, Savesa's mouth quirked into a slight smirk. Farkas shivered.

"Right," he nodded, walking heavily over to where the beautiful, infinitely intimidating Dunmer sat. He willed himself to look her dead in the face as he asked "do you mind?"

Savesa turned to look at him appraisingly, a faint light of surprise in her blood red eyes. She gave a small, permissive gesture to the seat beside her, and he sat stiffly. A small, amused smirk took the face of the Dunmer beside him.

"What?" He asked without thinking, then went deathly silent as he realised he'd spoken out of turn.

"Fear," Savesa stated simply. Her eyes darted downward, then back to his face. "And arousal."

Farkas felt his face turn a deep red as he shifted carefully to readjust. He made no reply, but instead reached for a pheasant roast and dug into it eagerly, avoiding what he knew would be poor conversation in any way possible.

"Farkas!" Came Skjor's voice. "We have a job for you and the whelp."

A small growl escaped Savesa beside him. He glanced over in surprise before turning his attention back to Skjor.

"We've received a tip on the location of a shard of Wuuthrad. You will be shield siblings for this excursion."

"Alright," Farkas replied simply, "where are we going?" He tried so hard to ignore the Dunmer woman's repeated sidelong glances that she threw him in between her attention to Skjor.

Skjor's sharp voice snapped Farkas out of his unfocus. "You will be going to Dustman's Cairn in the northwest. Be cautious, as there are bound to be some draugr down there - and watch out for members of the Silver Hand. They guard our Wuuthrad fragments like their lives depend on it."

As the Companions stood from the table and dispersed, Farkas' brother approached from across the hall. Once he stood between Farkas and Savesa, Vilkas grabbed the latter's shoulder and shoved her back against the nearest wall. He leaned in a mere inch from her face and growled at her.

"If my brother gets killed down there, his blood is on your hands, whelp. You got that?"

"Vilkas…" Farkas tried, touching his brother's arm, but he was shaken off.

Vilkas spoke again, growling menacingly from low in his chest. "Am. I. Clear?"

Savesa's eyes bored into Vilkas, and a faint smirk grew on her face. Then, in a flurry of movement, she struck his arm away from her shoulder and twisted it behind his back, switching places with him so that his chest and face were pressed firmly against the wall. She stood in full physical control of him, pulling his arm just hard enough to make him grimace and bring involuntary tears of pain to his eyes. Every eye in Jorrvaskr turned to the pair… the slight, 125 pound Dunmer woman pinning the much larger Nordic man of at least double her weight against the wall with ease as he fought back a whimper of defeat.

Savesa leaned in as close as she could get to his ear without touching it. "Don't. EVER. Threaten me again." She breathed, her whisper silky smooth and holding a great deal of danger. "Am I clear?" She hissed, mocking the words that had passed his lips only moments before.

"Clear," Vilkas ground through his teeth. She released him, and he shook out his arm. "Don't count on being so lucky when you don't take me by surprise," he growled, glaring darkly at her. Her mouth twisted into a sneer before she turned and slammed through Jorrvaskr's front doors, leaving gawkers in her wake.

Farkas stood torn between the doors standing ajar with Savesa striding away beyond them and his brother standing by the table, massaging his arm. Vilkas glared at him.

"You have a job to do," he growled, turning and walking away to his sleeping quarters. He pointedly ignored the banter that followed him about the embarrassment he'd just received. Farkas, with a single, uncertain glance back into the hall, followed Savesa, shutting the doors behind him.

He picked up to a jog to catch up with Savesa, already halfway across Whiterun. She ignored him as he fell into step beside her, then scowled at his ease of keeping her pace; he was a good several inches taller than her, and although her legs were long, his were longer merely by fact of his height.

Farkas wasn't having as easy a time as she thought. His legs were long enough and he was strong enough to carry the weight of his armour and Greatsword without difficulty, but he wasn't accustomed to walking so quickly. At the same time, however, he was trying not to look a fool by having to jog to keep up with her, so he maintained his uncomfortably fast walk.

"That was really something," he told her, hoping to strike up a proper conversation. "You're really something, Savesa."

Without turning or changing pace, Savesa replied brusquely. "Exactly what 'something' might that be? I'm afraid you're rather vague."

Farkas stumbled, both on his tongue and his feet. He caught himself quickly before he fell, and his mouth somehow formed the words "something incredible." He again mentally threatened his tongue with eviction.

She only smirked, although he couldn't see it; what didn't escape his notice, however, was the small, almost imperceptible snort of laughter she gave out.

"You're horrible at discretion, Farkas," she told him.

He smiled in spite of himself. The sound of his name rolling off her tongue was intoxicating.

"I've heard that before," he replied, still smiling. "I don't see a need to be discrete in most things, unless it's to do with a personal matter or a secret of the Companions or the Circle. I myself don't have many secrets."

The Dunmer made no reply. Farkas' face fell. Here he thought a conversation was beginning to blossom. He scarcely noticed, however, that he wasn't, at present, feeling so fearful of her.

"You… don't like to talk, do you?" He asked tentatively.

"I see no point in meaningless conversation," Savesa responded simply.

"It isn't meaningless," he disagreed, shaking his head earnestly. "It's a means of getting to know each other. As… uhm… shield… siblings." He stuttered gracelessly over the words he didn't care to speak. She threw him a knowing glance.

"Right," she replied, " _shield siblings_."

The guards at the front gate gave Farkas a friendly nod and Savesa a guarded look as the pair passed. Farkas shot a questioning look back their way.

"What was that about?" He asked levelly. "I've never seen them look at me or any of the Companions that way."

"There's only one dark elf in the Companions. Aside from me," Savesa replied flatly. "The guards don't trust my race."

Farkas touched her arm gently, and she viciously jerked away. "What do you mean?" He questioned, still relatively undeterred.

Savesa let out a sound that was half sigh, half growl. "I mean," she ground out, "every time I walk past them, I'm met with a remark such as 'stay out of trouble, elf' or 'I know your kind, always sneaking about' or 'hands to yourself, sneak thief,' the list goes on. Assumptions about me because I'm not a Nord."

Farkas' eyebrows knit together. "That's horrible and wrong. I didn't realise it was that bad."

"Well, it is," she snapped.

His eyes fell and he wrung his hands uncertainly. "I'm sorry you have to go through that. I can't entirely relate."

Her eyes turned to him for the first time since they'd started walking. "Entirely?" She challenged, sounding doubtful.

"It's not quite the same," he began, "but all of the Companions think I'm an idiot. I don't normally talk much, and I try not to hurt anyone's feelings. You know… generally. The only one who really knows me is Eorlund." A small smirk took Farkas' mouth. "Skjor always says I have the strength of Ysgramor, and my brother Vilkas has his smarts."

Savesa walked in silence for a few paces, tracing the ground before her with her dark eyes. "I wouldn't say he has Ysgramor's smarts," she stated finally.

Farkas looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

She stopped, hesitated, turned to him, and smiled a half-smile. Farkas' breath caught in his throat at how it lit up her otherwise solemn, darkened face. _How beautiful._

"He was dumb enough to underestimate and threaten me. He made a fool of himself in doing so," she told him, still smiling, before turning around and continuing to walk.

He grinned foolishly, childishly, even, and after a moment followed after her.

Once beyond the walls, Savesa turned sharply right and continued walking. Farkas paused a moment, looking after her.

"Where are you going?" He called, confused. She didn't answer. He trailed uncertainly after her.

After walking a hundred feet or so, he began to hear distressed cries of a horse. He broke into a jog and caught up to Savesa where she stood beside a light brown horse with a white stripe on its face. The steed was tied securely to a tree, and was pulling back desperately to escape - rearing, kicking, doing whatever it could seem to think to do. Farkas started forward with a knife to cut the animal loose, but Savesa held a hand up to halt him.

"Savesa…" he began, questioningly, but was this time met with a brief glare of warning. He silenced instantly, as though under a necromancer's spell, and simply watched her move.

Savesa tugged one end of the reins that secured the distressed horse to the tree, and the tether came loose. The animal immediately tried to wheel away, but she grabbed a firm hold of its bridle and pulled its head down, glaring into its eyes. The horse reared high, hardly missing the comparatively small Dunmer with its hooves.

The moment that all four of the equine's hooves touched the ground, Savesa clutched a handful of the horse's mane and swung herself onto its bare back. Like an arrow from a bow, the horse immediately burst into motion, bucking, rearing, spinning, trying to dislodge this intimidating stranger.

Farkas watched in horror, finally snapping out of his trance and trying to figure out what he could do to help… but it didn't seem he could. Nonetheless, he began to look for an opening to get in and grab the creature's bridle. He kept dodging in and out, ignoring the brief glares he kept receiving from the gray-skinned beauty atop the wild beast.

Savesa eventually chose to ignore him, and focused her attention on the couple thousand pounds of flesh bucking beneath her. She clenched her knees into the horse's sides, just behind its shoulders. Her hands gripped tightly to the reins, pulling them taut as her body lay close over the animal's neck. As the beast tried to toss its head, she yanked back hard on the reins, keeping the frantic horse's head down.

After another minute or two of Savesa fighting the horse, it steadied, still tossing its head from time to time. Farkas approached carefully and placed his hand on the side of the horse's bridle, holding it firmly. The beast's nostrils flared in both fear and anger. Farkas raised his free hand to gently scratch between the horse's eyes, which slowly began to close as the animal relaxed under his touch. Savesa's suspiciously narrowed eyes didn't move from the large Nord before her.

"You didn't tell me you could do that," she accused.

"You never gave me the chance," Farkas replied, dropping his scratching hand from the horse's face and looking Savesa dead in the eye. "I've never seen a Skyrim horse act this way unless it was stolen. They're loyal creatures."

"Maybe he was, or maybe he's just feisty. You don't know. Now are you getting on or not?" She held out one hand to him. Against his deeper desire, he didn't touch her.

"Where did you steal this horse from?" He asked, putting as much conviction into his voice as he could manage.

"His master is dead. It doesn't matter where he came from." Savesa withdrew her hand and pointedly jerked her mount's reins to the side, trying to escape from Farkas' hold. The horse flung its head up again, halfway rearing. This time, Farkas made no move to calm him.

"That's worse, you know that, right?" He stared at her with as much strength as he could muster. Her gaze still felt like it was cutting straight into his soul, especially now that she was unhappy with him. "Did you kill someone to steal this horse?"

Savesa half sighed, half growled; Farkas suppressed a shudder. "His owner was already dead. I found his carcass trapped under what I assume was this horse's cart. The only people..." -she put stress on the word, as though emphasising its falsehood- "...I killed were bandits. They attacked me the moment I came close. I had little choice." Her eyes continued to bore into him unforgivingly. This time, he failed to suppress a tiny shiver. She smirked.

"Are you coming or not?" She demanded, holding her hand out to him again. Once again turning against his desire, he stepped back.

"Not on a stolen horse," he told her, again forcing as much conviction into his voice as he could. "That… whoever it was that owned this horse may have family. Either way… the horse isn't yours."

Savesa scoffed and withdrew her hand once more. "So be it. Enjoy your walk." With that, she nudged the horse's sides, and after a final rear trying to dislodge the stranger from its back, horse and Dunmer took off galloping northwest.

Farkas tried not to think about how close he'd be to her on that horse if he hadn't turned her away. He shoved his hands dejectedly in his trouser pockets as he began the long and solitary walk to Dustman's Cairn.

 **This one is a bit longer than the last. I suck at chapter length consistency. Sorry. Anyway, please review, positive or negative. I love the feedback. Thanks for reading!**


	3. The Nord Who Cried Wolf

**Hello, as always. It seems my humble story is picking up a little bit of momentum. It even has a follower! I'm so proud. Anyway, a heads-up/warning: there's some blood and descriptive (regardless of how good I am or am not at vivid descriptions) violence and stuff in this chapter. Proceed with caution. (I don't think it's too bad but I have a stomach for it. Soooo yeah.) Enjoy!**

As Farkas arrived outside Dustman's Cairn, he heard the stolen horse neighing in anguish once again. He approached the sound carefully, and found the horse tied to a tree… again.

"Hey… easy," he cooed gently, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. The equine stared at him nervously, slowly calming and bringing all four feet to the ground. Farkas took hold of the animal's reins, pulled a dagger, and sliced the leather right against the knot. He then tied the loose ends together and secured them behind the horse's head.

"Go home, buddy," Farkas muttered half heartedly to the horse, patting its flank as it departed, before turning and heading into Dustman's Cairn, having seen no sign of his Dunmer companion outside.

He drew his greatsword once inside. Looking around as he progressed through the cairn, all he saw were dead draugr strewn across the floor. Apparently, Savesa had been through already.

Farkas continued on his way through the cairn, keeping on his guard but meeting no resistance. After a short time, he reached a chamber slightly larger than what he'd seen previously. He paused in the doorway, looking across the room to a gate sealed tightly shut… with a familiar looking Dunmer trapped behind it.

He paced across the room, almost leisurely, relishing somewhat in this moment. "Look at what you've gotten yourself into," he stated, shaking his head.

Savesa growled at him. "I pulled this lever and it opened the door across the room… but it locked me in and now the lever is stuck."

Farkas shook his head. "I'll find a way to get you out. Be back in a -"

He halted mid-sentence as a small group of five men and women, all armed to the teeth, slipped in and surrounded him. He backed up to the gate where Savesa was trapped, putting his greatsword away and glaring around at the group. The Dunmer behind him stared confusedly at his greatsword where it now sat in its sheath. Surely he was going to fight?

"Well, look what we have here," came the voice of one of the men. "A little wolfie and his damsel in distress." He wandered over to where Savesa stood behind the gate. He reached through the bars and grabbed her chin firmly, one finger pressed harshly against her throat.

A sneer came over the man's face. "Well, she's awfully pretty," he snickered, pulling her face closer to his, staring directly into her angry, fiery eyes that screamed threats and obscenities without her having to speak a word. The man grinned evilly.

Just as Savesa was trying to reach for a weapon to chop his hand off, Farkas' large hand wrapped around the man's throat. The man's grip fell from Savesa as he felt the shock of his feet leaving the ground. Farkas glared up at his enemy before him, a rare light of hate in his eyes. Savesa hardly believed she was seeing it.

"You will never touch or speak to a woman like that again," he snarled, then suddenly grunted softly in pain, clearly straining to keep relatively still and keep the terrified man suspended in the air.

Savesa watched in shocked horror as Farkas' bones seemed to distort and grow, his arms and legs lengthening with loud creaking, snapping and popping. His spine lengthened and seemed to hunch, and his very skull began to distort, lengthening from the back of his head to what was once his mouth and nose. As his face grew out from his skull, his teeth lengthened into sharpened points, bared dangerously at his victim and dripping with slaver.

While his body distorted, his skin darkened, fading to a dusky gray and then becoming obscured as coarse, sharp black hair forced its way out of his pores. As he grew, his flesh appeared to melt over his weapons and armour, almost seeming to consume it. His face no longer held the softness it usually did, but instead was that of a wolf, glaring and growling up at its victim. Through the wild fury in the face of the wolf, however, he still groaned softly in pain of the transformation.

The man stared down at him in terror, shrieking as claws grew from Farkas' fingers. The man struggled vainly, kicking and swinging at the beast holding him. His fists made no contact and his kicks barely glanced off the tough fur of his assailant. Razor sharp talons pushed through the skin where fingernails once were, first pressing into the soft flesh on the sides of the man's neck, then slowly, agonisingly digging into his flesh, cutting through skin and muscle… then veins and arteries. Screams of maddening agony echoed in the chamber and through the halls as the man's life bled out through the sides of his neck.

Blood pooled around the wolf's hand and ran down his outstretched arm as the victim of his claws gurgled his last shrieking cries. After what felt like ages, the light faded from his eyes and he fell limp in the deathly hold of the beast. Savesa kept her back pressed against the rear wall of the tiny room she was trapped in. Her breath caught in her throat as the wolf dropped the limp form from his grip and turned to look dead at her, seeming to smile harshly.

The werewolf before her yelped at the unexpected pain as a sword of silver swung down hard on his back. He turned swiftly, snarling at the attacker, who tried vainly to back away. He made quick work of the living four, slashing quick blows with long claws, slicing through faces, skulls and throats, with an occasional body or limb shot to enunciate. By the time he had finished, there were no recognisable faces or people, just five mutilated and crumpled bodies lying in a pool of their comrades' blood mixed with their own. The one who had brought on their demise, the once gentle Nord, stood over them, heaving growling breaths. Viscous red fluid dripped from his claws and teeth, running in rivulets down his lips and chin and pooling on the floor. Meanwhile, he remained completely oblivious to the blood - his blood - soaking the hair on his back.

The wolf threw the trapped Dunmer one more glance as if to tell her he'd be back. He then turned away from her and lumbered off into the next room. After a minute or so, the gate in front of her opened. She stepped out cautiously, weapon drawn as she peered around the corner where the beast had disappeared.

Farkas reappeared moments later, no longer in wolf form, walking as steadily as he could feign. When he reached her, he gave her a forced calm look followed by a weak smile. She sheathed her weapons and approached him, still cautious.

"I'm sorry," he gruffed, "I hope I didn't scare you."

She shook her head slightly, her eyes holding more softness than he'd ever seen. "Are you okay?" She asked after several moments of silence, punctuated only by his gentle gasps of breath.

"I've been better," he smiled, clearly attempting a joke while trying to stretch his back. He stopped in this pursuit as quickly as he began as a shock of pain lanced through him. He growled softly, fighting to stay steady on his feet.

"That sword," she recalled, "it hit you in the back. Looked pretty nasty." She kept her voice passive, doing the best she could not to show too much care.

Farkas shook his head. "I'm fine. We have work to do." He took a few steps before having to place his hand on a wall to steady himself.

Savesa grabbed his other arm, pulling him gently towards a platform in the centre of the room. "Sit down. Let me look at it." When Farkas looked at her quizzically, as though not believing of her kindness, she added hastily, "You're no good to me if you can't move. And… if it gets infected, it'll kill you. I don't feel like crossing your brother again, regardless of how much of a milk-drinker he is."

After a moment of resistance and a doubtful look punctuated with a faint smile, he gave in and followed her, sitting carefully on the edge of the platform. She went to work unstrapping his armour and then pulled it off gently over his head and setting it aside. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining the light fabric dark red and brown. She carefully pulled it up towards the injury, touching the bottom of his arm lightly to indicate he needed to lift them. When he did (not without a poorly concealed grunt of pain), she peeled his shirt off the wound and slipped it over his head, letting him do the rest to remove it.

Savesa pulled back from him and reached into her pack, feeling around with one hand while examining the cut. Her free hand came to rest on the back of Farkas' hip, fitting into the slight curvature of his body. Without a second thought, she let her eyes fall from the cut to stare at her hand, then study the toned musculature of his back. She felt the man shudder under her gentle hand, and she snapped back to her present task, blushing slightly.

Farkas couldn't help but be thankful for the excuse to keep his head bowed. He was, of course, in a great deal of pain. However, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face, and silently thanked the eight divines that his long hair obscured it from her view. Her touch on his bare skin was invigorating.

"Incoming. This may sting," Savesa told him, and he braced. She poured water over the wound first, trying to get a better look at it. With the blood generally cleared away, she could see the severity of the injury. It stretched from his left ribs just below his shoulder blade to the inner edge of his right shoulder blade. It was at least half an inch deep, but the cut was clean - no jagged edges to make her job harder. Without warning, she poured a generous amount of brandy over the cut. The Nord before her winced sharply.

"Keep still," she demanded impatiently.

"It stung," he complained, a faint note of defensiveness in his voice.

"I told you it would," she replied, "where's the problem? Can I get back to fixing you?"

"You're… treating me. Not fixing me," he rebutted. "I don't need… fixing."

Savesa chuckled, a light rumble in her chest escaping through her closed mouth and nose. The depth of it matched well with the solemnity of her voice and character.

"I should think not. You don't even have children yet."

His head turned as his eyes snapped to her over his shoulder. "What does that have to do with it?"

A smirk remained on her face. "Nothing. Nothing at all." She passed him the half-empty bottle of brandy. He looked at it quizzically, then back to her.

"For the pain," she told him.

His skeptical gaze remained on her as he took a small swig. He watched her reach back into her pack and pull out a skinny needle wrapped in a sinewy thread.

"Hold still," she ordered. "I don't want to muff this up."

Farkas winced almost imperceptibly as he felt the needle prick his skin. He steeled himself and made an effort not to move any more as Savesa made quick work of pulling the two sides of split skin back together with the thin thread of animal tendon. He noted as she worked that for such an abrasive creature, her hands were gentle. Her touch against his skin was butterfly-light, and this distraction allowed him to momentarily forget his pain.

"The worst is done," she told him, snapping him out of his head and bringing the pain rushing back as she sliced through the last bit of thread with a simple iron dagger. "Just let me wrap this up and we'll keep moving."

The final item she pulled from her bag was a clean linen wrap, which she wrapped all the way around his ribs and over his right shoulder in multiple layers until it ran out, upon which she tied the two ends tightly. Before saying anything, she found her hand resting lightly on his left shoulder. She ran it gently from where his shoulder met his neck down to his elbow, her eyes following her hand. It took until she passed his elbow for her to realise what she was doing. She jerked away and looked up, only to find her dark eyes meet his pale ones over his shoulder. Their faces burned a matching shade of red. She looked away quickly, and his eyes fell.

"Let's go." She spoke harshly, forcing more conviction into her voice than she intended.

The Nord nodded forcibly, swallowing his frustration. He glanced up to see his Dunmer companion's hand extended to him. He took it firmly and gave her a small, thankful smile as she pulled him to his feet and held his shirt out to him.

He tried to take it, but she pulled it back. This occurred once more before she rolled her eyes and said impatiently, "Less likely that you rip your stitches out if I help you."

He stuck his arms out sheepishly, cocking a half smile as she slid the shirt up to his shoulders and over his head, then pulled it down into place. She then put his armour back on him and tightened the straps. To his dismay, he failed spectacularly to suppress a wince and a sharp inhale as the heavy plate of steel was pulled firmly against his torso, putting unpleasant pressure on his injury. She paused at his reaction and loosened the strap a notch. He gave her an uncertain look. She merely shook her head.

"You'll move easier and quieter if you're not in pain. A touch of looseness won't be your end. The draugr are too mindless to take advantage of it and the Silver Hand… well, they won't get the chance to touch you. Be assured of that."

"I see," he replied quietly. She helped him slip the sheath for his sword back onto his back and he drew the weapon carefully from its place. "Let's get moving."

Savesa stepped in front of him decisively. "I agree. Let's proceed. However, I will lead. You need only to step in if I'm vastly outnumbered." She held up a hand to halt what was the beginning of a protest. "I've treated you once. I'd like to avoid doing it a second time."

Farkas withheld further protests and reluctantly followed her through twisting passages and small rooms, watching in admiration as the small Dunmer carved gracefully through whatever faced them with little difficulty. She never seemed to break a sweat.

The pair descended further and further into the depths of the crypt with little notable event until they reached an iron door, and the smaller of the two paused, eyes closed, her breaths coming even and steady. The presence of her partner beside her faded from her awareness. She could feel something in the next room - something powerful - calling to her… drawing her in. The Nord's gentle hand on her shoulder snapped her out of it.

"Are you okay?" he asked carefully, expecting to be thrown off. Her lack of response to his touch surprised him.

"I'm fine. I think this is it," she replied, shaking off her distractedness and trying to ignore the calling she felt pulling her into the depth of the room. "We need to be careful."

He nodded resolutely. "I'm right behind you."

She simply nodded in reply and pushed open the door cautiously. Glancing around, she saw over a dozen sarcophagi from which draugr would normally appear… but there was no movement. She crept lightly across the room towards the power she felt drawing her in. She mounted two small flights of stairs and passed by a table, which is where Farkas stopped and called to her in confusion. She hardly heard him. She didn't stop. Something was roaring in her ears. Finally, beyond the table, she reached a curved wall engraved with a language she didn't recognise… and yet knew. As she gazed upon the wall, the roaring in her ears seemed to speak from the symbols on the wall.

 _"QETHSEGOL VahRUKIV KiiR JUN JAFNHAR WO LOS AG NahLaaS NaaL YOL DO LOT DOVah LODUNOST"_

These words in her head felt as though they should be gibberish. Somehow, however, her mind translated them into her tongue… or perhaps she simply understood their meaning? She was unsure, but as the words echoed in her head… _"This stone commemorates the child king Jafnhar who was burned alive by the fire of the great dragon Lodunost…"_ one word echoed repeatedly above the rest.

 _"YOL… Fire… YOL… Fire… **YOL… FIRE!** "_

She staggered, using the wall for support as she felt a burst of heat overcome her from head to toe, then pass as quickly as it came. She stood leaning on the wall, heaving gasping breaths before looking blearily up from where she stood, shaking, and saw Farkas hesitating not two feet away, holding a hand out to her as though wanting to touch her, but seeming to be stopped by fear and uncertainty. She dropped her gaze again, shaking her head and watching as droplets of sweat hit the dusty floor.

"I'm fine. Let's just grab that shard of Wuuthrad and get out of here."

He nodded silently and turned back to the table, picking up the shard from where it lay on a low pedestal and passing it to her. As she tucked it safely away, a massive rumble shook the place. The Companions braced, both clutching their weapons as every sarcophagus in the room burst open and a horde of nearly twenty draugr stepped out. Savesa's eyes fell on the one nearest them, from which a draugr much larger and more heavily armoured than the rest appeared. Instinctively, Savesa and Farkas fell into fighting stances back to back, their bodies forming one smoothly operating unit.

The draugr horde fell upon them all at once, while the large one stood back as though watching appraisingly the work of his underlings. The pair cut and sliced through the assailants with ease, until Farkas had to duck his head to avoid a flying arrow. Savesa stepped off his back and drew a bow.

"Watch your back! Cover me!" she ordered, dodging, ducking, and occasionally bashing with her bow the draugr that stood in her way as she made her way to the outside edge of the curved wall. As soon as she had moved from his back, her Nordic companion backed himself up to the wall to defend his rear as he continued to down more and more of the undead.

The draugr arrows gradually stopped flying as her arrows found their marks. Her eyes fell on the final archer, and she loosed an arrow on its way to its mark in tandem with her foe. As her arrow buried itself in the skull of the enemy, the enemy's arrow buried itself firmly in her right shoulder. The moment the arrowhead pierced her hand-weaved leather armour she knew it would be painful. As though in slow motion she felt the jagged stone tear through her skin, then the muscle of her chest as it found its way between her sternum and collarbone, only to be stopped when it crushed into her shoulder blade from the inside.

Farkas heard her cry of pain as he downed the last of the smaller draugr. He bounded over the heap of slaughtered undead and rushed to where he'd heard her. When he reached her, he froze, if only momentarily. The large, armoured draugr stood over her where she knelt on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain herself.

He acted quickly, on an instinct as the large undead's hefty battle axe swung down towards her in what would be a killing blow. He threw his greatsword out between her and the axe, bracing to take the full force of the attack and keep her from harm. As soon as the strike was deflected, his eyes rose to the draugr's emotionless face.

"You will not hurt her," he growled, then as he charged, shouted, " _I'll rip you in half!_ "

Savesa's eyes rose. She turned her head just enough to look over her shoulder and watch as Farkas made good on his promise with a powerful swipe through the torso of his enemy. The large draugr fell to the ground in two pieces and the dim light in its empty eyes winked out.

She was already pushing herself to her feet when he got to her side, though she kept all weight and pressure off her right arm. He stood on her left side and wrapped his arm underneath hers. She made half an effort to shrug him off, then abandoned it, resigning to her lack of energy.

"I'm… fine. It's just an arrow. I'll be fine," she insisted. He merely shook his head and smiled softly.

"Better safe than sorry," he replied. "We both need to get back to Whiterun. They should be able to help us at the temple of Kynareth. I need it just as much as you do, regardless of how nice a job you did on the spot."

She simply nodded tiredly and followed his lead, using her good arm to help hold herself up on his shoulder. In short time, they made their way out of the crypt and cairn and started on their way back to Whiterun. She hardly even noticed that the horse was gone.

 **Once again, longer than the last. I know. Again, I suck at keeping chapter lengths consistent. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Leave a review if you did or didn't. I accept all kinds of feedback. Thanks for reading! Til next time!**


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